


The Hue of You

by ExtraordinarilyDull



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: (Mentioned) ereri, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Turned out to be a little sadder than I thought, jeanmarco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-23 04:59:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11395818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExtraordinarilyDull/pseuds/ExtraordinarilyDull
Summary: Jean was desperate to see color. As soon as you meet your soulmate, they'd rescue you from the broken, monochrome hues that painted over your world. Jean desperately wanted to see color; he desperately needed to see his soulmate. Things never go as planned, do they?





	The Hue of You

"Jean, I don't see what's wrong with it." Eren's voice dripped with annoyance and practically radiated how done he was with the whole situation. His phone had gone off at least half a dozen miscalls from his adopted sister, and even one from Levi. "Can I go home now? Mikasa's gonna murder me for staying here so late." He grumbled with his eyes trained down on his phone to text her that he was still alive, and to answer Levi's text.

Jean was thoroughly annoyed as well, but for a different reason. The lines on the page were far too harsh for warm beauty. He couldn't tell apart the colors he was using; they were just blends of black and grey, some harsher and others darker, but they all remained within the same dreary and utterly disappointing color scale. "Just shut it and hand me the damn colors." He spoke through tightly clenched teeth with his tone just as harsh as the greys on the canvas seemed.

"Now," The artist sighed out all of his tension, "hand me the brown. One that's.." His brows furrowed as he struggled to describe it. Even his memories were decaying now with all the beautiful hues rotting away to leave him completely void of color. No, it was all happening too fast. He _needed_ that color again. He needed it to-

"Jean?" He quickly snapped out of his thoughts at the sight of Eren impatiently snapping his fingers in front of his face. "Are you okay...?" Eren asked delicately, and Jean hated it. Eren looked (and sounded) like he was walking on eggshells around him. He despised that tone since that wasn't their relationship. Neither of them sugarcoated anything: that was just their personalities. They were blunt about anything and everything, it didn't matter. They didn't comfort each other, they just stated the cold, hard facts. Seeing Eren with such a soft expression that reeked with sympathy, it angered him far more than it comforted him.

"I get that you're an artist, but you'll find your soulmate soon enough. Your paintings look fine in black and wh-" Jean cut Eren off with a low and murderous glare. He and Jean got into spats a lot, but never before had Eren got a glare so intense that it made his very soul freeze.

"Who the _hell_ do you think you are to be able to tell me that?" What made Eren fall silent wasn't Jean's words: it was the tone that came with it. Never before had he heard him so enraged, so infuriated. It was unnerving.

Jean's expression softened once he realized how intense he had been, but he didn't speak another word of it. He simply turned back to his canvas with a weighted sigh, his expression tight and unreadable. His tired, hazel eyes scanned the painting with some foreign emotion locked behind his eyes that Eren couldn't figure out.

"Just hand me the colors." He murmured, his voice quiet and hardly above a whisper.

"I need a brown. Not a harsh, blot-y shade that makes you think of grimy, disgusting dirt. I need warm. I need a welcoming shade, one that makes you stop in your tracks and convinces you no matter how many hours you spend staring at it, you'll still find endless reasons why you like it." Jean mumbled as he stared at the canvas in front of him. The monochrome painting stared back at him as if it was taunting him.

If Eren wasn't concerned before, he definitely was now.

He didn't comment unlike last time and silently pointed to a shade of brown on Jean's palette. Jean ignored the concerned look the brunet held and instead squinted at the color. Before he could get too wrapped up in the fact it looked just as bland as the rest of the colors, or that it blended into the swirls of achingly vapid greys, he began the new painting.

The two continued in silence. The only thing that broke the absence of sound was the brushing of Jean's tool against the canvas and his quiet descriptions of what colors he needed. The brunet wished he knew why Jean's voice was so strained and why he sounded so fragile when he spoke, but he didn't comment. Jean didn't need to talk about it. He needed to paint it.

About two or so hours later, Jean was delicately swirling his last few touches on his art piece. The blond male slowly took a step back to look over his work, his footsteps echoing loudly in the empty room. The room seemed to strangle out any other sound.

Eren held his breath. He looked at the painting, then to Jean, then back at the painting. Back and forth his head went as he tried to comprehend the meaning of both the picture and the expression on other male's face. Jean looked so... Conflicted. His expression itself was eerily calm, unnervingly so, but it was his eyes that scared him the most. Frozen behind his normally focused vision laid a sea, a torrent, of numerous unsurfaced emotions, However, that very sea was threatening to spill from his glazed eyes.

Before Eren could make a concerned comment, his phone went off. The vibration cut through the thick, suffocating silence as Jean quickly turned his head away from both the brunet and his painting. "Sorry." Eren began a quick apology, his voice slightly rough from sitting in silence for so long, "Levi is calling me now and I-"

"No." Jean interrupted him with his tone so flat it sounded sharp. After he saw his friend still in confusion, he added, "Apologize, I mean. Don't. There's no need." He clarified a little awkwardly, though he didn't turn to face the other male once. "I understand; go help your soulmate with whatever he needs."

What made Eren shiver wasn't his words: it was his tone. He could tell Jean wasn't angry at him- no, that wasn't the case- it was more like he was bitter. Bitter about what? Then it clicked. Soulmate. He was jealous Eren found his soulmate so early on. Eren let out a soft exhale as he gave Jean a smile, "Stop being such an impatient bastard." His words weren't meant to be anything more than teasing; after all, light and fluffy just wasn't their friendship. "You'll meet him soon enough. Or her. Or them." He shrugged and flashed him a grin an attempt to cheer him up.

In response, Jean simply rolled his eyes. Eren didn't expect anything less. "Whatever, just get back to that grump of yours." He muttered as he picked up his paintbrush again. The brunet laughed; good, it seemed like he was returning from whatever funk he was in. "See you later." He said his goodbyes, his smile widening once he heard Jean murmur a faint "thank you" as he was leaving.

What Eren didn't hear, however, was the quiet, strangled sob that ripped from his chest. Eren was long gone. He was left alone, once again, with only the various, sickening shades of greys and monochrome to keep him company.

Eren did see sadness trapped behind his eyes, but what he didn't see was the sadness finally leaking out.

Jean was drawn up in a tight ball, his knees muffling his anguished cries and screams. He didn't bother to stay silent. His neighbors were on vacation anyway. With a shaky hand, Jean reached to grab his gelid phone. He didn't need to open his eyes to unlock his screen and find the contact he was searching for. He dried his tears and sniffed away the last remnants of dolefulness from his vocal chords. He took a long, shuddering breath, his entire frame shaking with emotion as he forced a broken smile onto his lips.

As the phone rang, he didn't drop the fake smile while he waited for the other end to pick up. Once it did, he quickly flicked his tongue in French, "Mother? I know I just came down, but... Can I visit again? It's important. For work." The French male lied straight through his teeth. He absolutely hated lying to his mom, he felt terrible about it, but he needed to be home. He didn't want his mother to be concerned about him. He wanted things to be normal again.

His smile shifted to be slightly more genuine at his mother's response, _"Of course Jeany-Boy!"_ He normally hated that nickname, but in that moment it was exactly what he needed.

* * *

 

None of his friends knew why Jean went back to visit France, he'd been vague about all of it. All they knew was that he needed it, so they didn't question it.

* * *

 

He thought coming back would help him. His family helped him a little, but returning to the same place tore him down farther than it built him up.

His family let him go; he told them he came to work, after all. Though he did anything but. Jean walked the streets with a grim expression. Each step drained more and more energy from him, yet it injected icy, mindless determination that forced him forward. He needed to go back. He had to.

By the time he recognized the street his feet numbly dragged him to, he was shaking. People were staring at him weirdly and it was with a bitter smile he realized he was crying. Everything felt so similar to that day. A humorless laugh bubbled in his chest.

 

 

 

 

 

 

> _Time almost seemed to freeze as bright hues magically seemed to drip and fill out every crevice he could see. It was absolutely beautiful, all of it. The sky was such a rich blue that contrasted wonderfully with the fluffy white he was able to see his whole life. His gaze turned to the streets, his eyes blown wide as a crazed grin took over his lips. Everything was so... So wonderful! Every little detail was like its own intricate work of art!_

Oh how naïve he'd been back then.

 

 

 

 

 

 

> _Wait. Color. This was the beauty so many people had described to him. He could certainly see why people adored it so much! It was gorgeous... His soulmate! They were the reason why he could see color! Where were they?! Even though the amount of people on the crowded street was overwhelming, his eyes focused on a certain, radiant stranger._

Why did he come back? It was the stupidest idea he'd ever had.

 

 

 

 

 

 

> _All thoughts flew out of his mind. He forgot how to breathe. He was the one._

More icily hot tears burned his face. People were whispering as they passed him, but he didn't notice. He was just as frozen as he was back then.

 

 

 

 

 

 

> _He didn't know the last time he grinned so much. His cheeks ached from it._

He didn't know the last time he'd cried so much. His head was throbbing with a migraine.

 

 

 

 

 

 

> _Those weeks were the best of his life, he wished it would never end._

He now wished he would've ended with it

 

 

 

 

 

 

> _They stayed up late and giggled like preteens in love for the first time. They weren't preteens, but in love? They certainly were. It was left unspoken, but both of them knew it._

He still stayed up late, but it wasn't because someone was laying next to him. It was the achingly empty spot beside him that now kept him up.

The people stared even more as he ducked his head down and ran.

 

 

 

 

 

 

> _"Hey, Jean?"  
>  "What is it, babe?"  
>  "I know this is a childish question to ask, but... What's your favorite color?"_ _That sheepish grin with brilliantly white shining teeth contrasting against his beautifully tanned skin and delicate freckles was stunning. Jean knew he'd cherish that smile forever._

But he didn't. He couldn't.

 

 

 

 

 

 

> _"I don't think it's childish at all! I think it's cute." Jean grinned before humming back his response, "Blue, I think. It was the first color I saw. What about you?" He asked in curiosity as a small blush spread across his boyfriend's cheeks. "Red. It was the first color I saw too; it was the color you were wearing."_

His vision was so clouded it made his eyesight useless. Good thing he knew by heart where he was going.

 

 

 

 

 

 

> _Red was Marco's favorite color. He kept that fresh in his mind. Marco loved his paintings more than anything too. With those thoughts together, an idea brewed in his mind._

He was such an idiot.

 

 

 

 

 

 

> _That morning he planted a gentle kiss on Marco's head before parting to go to a beautiful flower field out in the middle of nowhere. All of the tools he needed were in his bag._

Why couldn't he have just stayed?

 

 

 

 

 

 

> _He knew Marco would be pleased to see the painting and would be very grateful for the thought and effort. He'd do anything to see that stunningly gorgeous smile again._

He'd never get to have the honor again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

> _He set to work on the painting. It was the flower field, but it was different. It was set in place at sunset with the last, soft dying rays of red illuminating the last few seconds of the day. In the field of beautiful red flowers laid Jean and Marco with their fingers intertwined. Marco's freckled cheeks were glowing a gentle red, a product of the heart melting smile occupying his lips. His eyes were closed with happiness with his favorite red flowers supporting his head, one of them tucked behind his ear._ _Jean held a smile as well, though his eyes weren't closed. They were looking at Marco with the upmost level of tender adoration._
> 
> _He was nearly done with his finest masterpiece, his expression overtaken by a grin full of joy and pride. He couldn't wait to see the look on Marco's face when he gave it to him._

Too bad he'd never get the chance.

 

 

 

 

 

 

> _He was applying his final touches when he noticed the hues on the canvas were fading. Jean watched in confusion which slowly shifted into horror. He wasn't imagining it, they were fading. Quickly too. He scrambled to something, **anything** , to make it stop, but he was unable to help the heavy knot of dread dropping into his stomach. Red was the last color, the most stubborn, to fade._

How ironic, Jean thought bitterly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

> _He rushed back home to Marco, the painting carried by his side like some sort of hopeless safety blanket. He was scared, terrified even, He'd heard stories of what it meant, but those couldn't be true...right?_
> 
> _Marco wasn't home. Jean left the canvas as he searched for his boyfriend, beginning to feel more anxious than ever due to the absence of color._
> 
> _Eventually, he did find him._
> 
> _It was ironic red was the last color he saw._
> 
> _Red that used to be a color of beauty, one of comfort._
> 
> _Red was the color of the flowers that mocked him._
> 
> _Red was the color that stained and soaked every inch of Marco._
> 
> _Grey was the color it finally faded into._
> 
> _Just like that, he was plunged back into a world of monochrome. A world that was more bleak and desolate than it had ever been. A world where grey was around every corner._

How ironic it was Marco's final resting place was grey.

Jean collapsed onto the ground, now freely sobbing and this time people didn't stare. The few that were scattered around the grounds held the same broken expression.

When he'd returned to his other country, he used Eren's assistance to record his memory of Marco before it faded too. Memories took longer than his surroundings to disappear, but by the time his brush touched the canvas, it all faded.

"How useless is that," Jean choked out with a bitter laugh as he sat in front of his soulmate's grave. "An artist who can't even see color. Pathetic." He spat out in self hatred, his breath coming out in jagged wheezes. _He_ was pathetic, useless even without Marco.

He'd never see color again. He'd never paint again either. He'd already met his soulmate, and he'd lost him.

He couldn't even remember the hue of him.

**Author's Note:**

> Idk I saw a prompt on Tumblr so then, like a normal person, I thought, why not make it sad? Basically when you meet your soulmate, you can see color, but if they die then everything goes back to being colorless. It also didn't help I was inspired by Marco's official death scene in season 2. Sorry, I hope you liked it and thanks so much for reading!!


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